I know what you’re thinking.
Fae! I thought now that you had more energy you wouldn’t abandon your blog again until the day the baby came unexpectantly and you didn’t trust anyone to handle the blog for you. I mean, Wednesday you actually took the time to write an extra post on Tuesday to schedule when you were helping out at Tornado E’s school because KathyB! And CK made it sound like so much fun. What gives?
Oh, you had no idea I was at Tornado E’s school because I hadn’t written my Thursday blog? Ok, so obviously I talk to myself. I also answer myself, and today in the grocery store I actually started talking to myself out loud, which was a little disconcerting because I couldn’t blame it on “talking” to the boys because they weren’t there.
Yesterday you could find me with the boys and my saintly mother, standing outside in a line of a couple of hundred people waiting to get my N1H1 flu shot. I wouldn’t be so bitter if my phone hadn’t told me it was going to be 78 degrees, partly cloudy. We hit a record of 92 without a cloud in the sky. 78 is a long way from 92. I choose to wear jeans because they fit me better. Stupid phone.
My mom called me yesterday. Are you going to get the flu shot today? She didn’t have to specify which one because I knew there was only one she was concerned about. The one that nearly 40 percent of pregnant women were dying from? Yeah, that one. We were all concerned because the week before my county ran out of vaccines in one day, and they got a fresh shipment in on Monday. But when I called to ask questions like, how do I prove I’m pregnant if I’m barely pregnant and can my son get it if he has a fever, I was told no, my son couldn’t receive the vaccine if he had a fever within the last 24hrs. Where did Tornado S get this mild fever? I have no idea. So I decided against going down to the ball park where they were giving away health. Besides I wasn’t sure at this point if I had a cold or allergies because I was still hacking stuff out of my lungs.
I assured my mom I would call the health department to see if they had any more injections. The news had reported only a shipment of 500 came in on Monday, and I was sure those would be gone. But as luck would have it, they still had some left. Since The Husband likes to walk on the dangerous side of health, he stayed home to work as my mom volunteered to come help me with the boys.
The clinic started at one, so we thought we would get there an hour early. We knew we wouldn’t be the first ones in. Both my mom and I assumed we wouldn’t get out of there until 2:30 or 3. I packed lunch, toys, juices, books, crayons, paper, and the double stroller. My mom brought their official tailgating chairs. Smart mom.
We settled down at the end of the line of about two hundred people, mainly family. As one gentleman asked, why can’t they give these out at school? Here. Here. Most of these kids were missing school.
Tornado S slept. Tornado E was bewildered and went to join another family, seeking their chips instead of the healthy snacks I brought. Luckily the mom was a good mom and asked if Tornado E could have any before she gave him any. I said no and dragged Tornado E back to eat some lunch, promising him a treat if he did well in line and getting his vaccine.
A half hour before the start of the clinic, workers rolled out large trash cans filled with ice and bottled water to hand out to the line. Fifteen minutes later, the workers walked the line handing out pens, cardboard, and forms. When the worker got to me and asked how many I needed, I replied three.
Two kids, and I’m pregnant.
Like I have mentioned before I don’t look very pregnant. So for the occasion, I wore my most pregnant-looking shirt, and I brought my last ultrasound.
Oh, Hon, how are you doing out here? Do you need more water? Do you need to be in the shade?
I’m fine. Really, I am.
My mom and I filled out the forms. The line condensed. Then they asked for all the pregnant women. I was assured I could bring my boys, and we followed. We heard they wanted to get us delicate conditioned women out of the sun. We were moved past the beginning of the line and through the open gates. Due to the massive amounts of people wanting the H1N1 vaccine and the low quantity of the vaccine, my city moved all their clinics to one of the spring training baseball fields. We waited in line overlooking a pristine ball field.
Tornado E: Mommy, what are we doing?
Me: We’re waiting to get our vaccines, remember?
Tornado E: Mommy, I think we’re in the wrong place.
Me: What do you mean?
Tornado E: We’re at a baseball field. We should be at a doctor’s office.
Me: (laughing) You’re right, but so many people want this, they moved it in a big area to allow everyone to get it.
Tornado E: Oh.
Then the line of pregnant women and their families moved. We realized we had been shown to the front of the line, before the clinic even officially opened. My fears of not getting my vaccine were unfounded. We were registered and escorted into the mad house that was giving the vaccine. Tons of tables and three nurses behind each were crammed into a room much too small for the purpose.
First things first. The pregnant woman needed her shot. And it hurt like a bitch like these things usually do.
Then the nurse escorted us over to another table for the boys to sniff their vaccines. Tornado E was a pro. Tornado S had to be held down and was pissed off, trying to cough and gag it out. Hopefully he’ll be more cooperative in four weeks.
We were done. It was 1:30. Really? That was fast. As we walked to the back of the parking lot, where we found the first parking spot, Tornado E started getting upset.
Me: Tornado E, baby, what’s wrong?
Tornado E: I didn’t get a shot.
Me: No, you got the spray.
Tornado E: But I didn’t get a shot.
Me: You don’t like shots. Why would you want one?
Tornado E: If I don’t get a shot, I don’t get a treat.
Me: (hugging him) You still get a treat. You did great in line and getting your vaccines.
Tornado E: Oh. Can we get Eegee’s?
So we did. And for those of you that haven’t had the pleasure of an Eegee’s, imagine a virgin margarita with hunks of lemon or strawberry mixed in. Mmmm.
To make matters worse on publishing, The Husband’s laptop has decided every once in a while not to find a server. Awesome.